


Truth be Told

by Binsfeld



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binsfeld/pseuds/Binsfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(kink meme prompt: flustered!varric tries to get with Hawke) Varric finds himself oddly tongue-tied around Hawke. She seems oblivious, though, and he's certain he doesn't have a shot with her. Isabela slips in to play unwelcome matchmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first Varric was afraid that he was losing his touch.

 

It began with the stories. Where once the tales of Hawke had been cheerfully laced with everything from three-headed dragons to helpless princesses trapped in tall towers, now he found himself sticking closer and closer to the one thing he usually tried to avoid in his tales: the truth.

 

To be fair, some of the shit Hawke got up to was extraordinary enough to make any storyteller delirious with joy. He'd started adding wild embellishments out of habit, and then continued the practice mostly because it annoyed her.

 

She'd taken it all in stride at first, even laughing at some of the more colorful additions, but nearly four years of wild tales caught up to them both. She'd marched into the Hanged Man, scattering Varric's breathless listeners with a well-aimed scowl, and offered him an ultimatum. "Enough is enough. You've had your fun. If one more wide-eyed noble brat comes up to me and begs me to tell them about the darkspawn I supposedly talked into taking a dump in Meredith's bed chamber, I am going to do something permanent and disfiguring to your face, Varric. And I'll make Bianca watch."

 

"My lips are sealed," he'd lied, and carried right on with the fiction the moment she left.

 

More and more often, however, the truth had begun overriding the fancy in the stories. Hawke was fearless and sacrificing enough, he figured, and people deserved to know the real hero.

 

Oddly enough, the more honest his tales got, the more it seemed to embarrass Hawke.

 

"No one likes a modest hero, Hawke," he insisted when she once again asked him to keep his big mouth shut.

 

"No one likes a braggart," she corrected, studiously ignoring the pair of young men practically radiating hero worship her way from across the tavern. She hunched over her ale and shot the dwarf a reproving look. "Tell stories about someone else, will you? Isabela's had an exciting life. She's a pirate, for Maker's sake, and anyway, people love to hear stories about beautiful heroines."

 

Varric opened his mouth to point out suavely that he was _already_ telling stories about a beautiful woman, and instead said, "Well, yes. But. And. Hmm." He covered up the verbal stumble by filling his mouth with ale, happy to let Aveline butt in with some complaint about how crowded the Hanged Man was. Thankfully no one seemed to notice the embarrassing and abrupt departure of his silver tongue.

 

He'd had too much ale, that was all. Yes.

 

 

~*~

 

"I don't understand," Merrill said, voice as bright and politely confused as ever. Her unblinking eyes swept the length of the Chantry, taking in the impressive statue of Andraste, the candles, and the solemn-faced Sisters. Her gaze landed once more on the prince kneeling devoutly by the altar. "Why does Sebastian always want to come pray after we drop by the Blooming Rose?"

 

"It's the penitent version of cold showers, I suspect," Hawke said, amused. "That's the last time I let him tag along when I'm looking for Gamlen."

 

" _Such_ a waste," Isabela sighed, studying the prince with hooded eyes. "Why someone with that body would take chastity vows is beyond me."

 

"Everyone has one glaring flaw," Varric drawled.

 

"Everyone?" Isabela struck a dramatic pose, purposefully thrusting her breasts forward. "Name one."

 

"And some have so many."

 

"Ohh, harsh." The pirate gave a small laugh and patted Hawke affectionately on the cheek. "Well, I'm off. Good luck with Saint Sebastian. See you in the Hanged Man later for some strip Wicked Grace?"

 

The teasing comment that had leapt so readily to Varric's lips died and crawled away somewhere behind a column.

 

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Isabela."

 

"One day you'll be drunk enough to give in," Isabela chuckled, waving over her shoulder languidly. "You big prude."

 

Hawke turned to Varric with an arched brow. "What, no comments about naked rogues? I'm shocked."

 

He smirked and opened his mouth

 

_Hawke playing strip Wicked Grace_

 

_and losing miserably_

 

and forgot what the hell he'd been about to say.

 

"Are you all right, Varric?" Merrill asked kindly. "You've been acting a little strange lately."

 

"Says the Queen of Strange," he retorted. Ouch. Weak. He really _was_ losing his touch.

 

"And you're all flushed."

 

"It's hot in here," he said, a tad defensively. He indicated Sebastian's bowed form with a jerk of his thumb. "So is there a reason we're visiting the choir boy, or is it repenting time? Because Bianca hears all my confessions."

 

Hawke shrugged, eyeing the prince thoughtfully. She seemed undecided whether or not it would be rude to interrupt his prayers. "He wanted to speak with me. Isabela seems to think it has something to do with the last time we were in here." A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Maybe I shouldn't have teased him like that."

 

Ah. Yes. She'd said something about sexy princes. The look on Sebastian's face had been absolutely priceless. Varric's amusement had been oddly short-lived, however.

 

"I hope he didn't take me seriously," Hawke added almost as an afterthought.

 

"You are a cruel, cruel woman," Varric said solemnly.

 

She shrugged. "I was only trying to get him to lighten up. Though Anders is probably right. The man really needs a good roll in the hay to straighten him out."

 

Varric grinned. It hurt his face. "Are you going to offer him a pity shag?"

 

"Oh, please. Like I need the kind of baggage he has hanging around his neck." She gave a decisive wave of her hand. "Why don't you two go on to the Hanged Man without me? This has the potential to be a really awkward conversation, and I don't think he'll want an audience. I'll catch up with you later."

 

"You sure you don't need a chaperon?" Varric reached back to give his crossbow a meaningful pat. "Bianca can stand in the corner and glare ominously with the best of them."

 

Hawke laughed. It was something she rarely seemed to do lately, and the sound warmed Varric through and through. "I think we'll be fine, _Dad_." He bit back a wince. Barely. "You two have fun. I'll be there in a little while."

 

Trying to exude casualness, Varric turned and followed Merrill out.

 

"Dad"? Really? He was too damned young to be a father figure. Was that how Hawke saw him? That was... more disconcerting than it should have been. No, she was just teasing, as always. Since when was he so defensive?

 

He turned his head to take one last look back before they reached the doors, and managed to bang his nose against Bianca instead.

 

Smooth, Tethras.

 

Real smooth.

 

~*~

 

If Hawke had one thing going for her, Varric thought to himself, if was her sense of humor. They'd gotten along from pretty much the get-go. They were usually on the same wavelength, one smartass to another. Some of the things she said to dangerous people were as hilarious as they were ballsy.

 

So yes, he could see why someone might feel attracted to her. Everyone liked a sense of humor.

 

And okay, she was bea-- very nice. Looking. Very nice looking.

 

So, easy on the eyes and funny. He supposed some people might like that in a girl.

 

Also a good person to have at your back in a fight, there was that.

 

Fighter. Funny. Beau--not bad looking.

 

Not to mention--

 

"What _are_ you scowling at, Varric?" Aveline demanded, leaning over as she tried to follow his line of sight. "You're starting to make people nervous."

 

"Nothing." Varric jerked his eyes back to his hand of cards. "Whose turn is it?"

 

"Is that Sebastian?" The guard captain sounded genuinely surprised. "I didn't think he ever came in here if he could help it." She paused. "Oh no."

 

"What? Oh no what?"

 

"He's talking to Hawke. I thought she was going to clear that up."

 

"People can talk. There's nothing wrong with talking. Somebody go already."

 

"It's your turn, dwarf," Fenris pointed out. He seemed completely uninterested in the two rogues chatting by the bar. "I'm getting old just waiting for you."

 

"Patience is a virtue, my ill-tempered friend," Varric said loftily. He stole a quick look in Hawke's direction as he discarded. What was the choir boy's problem? Hawke was clearly not his type. Not if he wanted to stay in the Chantry, anyhow. Though that waffling about his kingdom could mean he was actively preparing to reclaim his throne.

 

And possibly find a wife. Wasn't that was Princes did? Fought in wars and married powerful women?

 

Hawke glanced up suddenly and caught him looking her way. Gritting her teeth slightly, she moved her fingers in a subtle "come here" gesture.

 

"I'm dry," Varric declared, putting aside his cards and reaching for his tankard. "Refills, anyone? Don't look at my cards, elf. Bianca is watching you."

 

"You realize you're insane, right?" Fenris retorted, but handed over his own empty tankard.

 

Varric made his way to the bar and wedged himself in between Hawke and Sebastian casually, calling over the bartender.

 

"Varric, there you are!" Hawke clasped him warmly on the shoulder and beamed at Sebastian. "Weren't you just telling me earlier how much Sebastian would like that story you told me? You know, the one about the, er... Orlesian hunchback?"

 

"Oh, that one." Varric's quick mind hastily scrambled to construct a story as he grinned at the young priest. "You'll love it. Hawke, bring this to the elf, will you? And make sure he's keeping those puppy eyes of his off my cards."

 

"Can do," Hawke said a little too quickly, and hurried off with the refilled mug.

 

Varric made himself comfortable on a stool and launched into his spur-of-the-moment tale. "So there's this hunchback named Sebastian--"

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Did I say Sebastian? I meant Sebbeth. It's the ale. Gets to me after awhile, you understand. Anyway, there's this hideous creature living in--"

 

Sebastian cut him off with a firm but polite cough. "Er, perhaps you can tell me some other time. I can't dally long. I just wanted to drop in and... speak with Hawke."

 

"I thought you Chantry boys were supposed to steer away from the fun fleshy sins?"

 

Sebastian's cheeks flushed, and he held up a hand in denial. "There is nothing wrong with talking to a friend. Hawke has offered to help me track down those responsible for my family's murder. I came here to discuss our next move, that is all."

 

"Right." That didn't explain Hawke's eagerness to end the conversation, but he let it drop. There was at least one surefire way to get the man's holy butt out of his tavern. "Come on, why don't you join us? We could use another player, and I'm buying the next round. You've played Naughty Maids, right?"

 

"I... Maybe some other time." Sebastian edged towards the door. "You have fun. I have to go--"

 

"Pray?"

 

"Yes. That. Good evening, Varric."

 

"Night night, choir boy." Toasting himself, Varric returned to his table.

 

~*~

 

"I think we need to have a chat, you and I."

 

Varric dismissed his Lowtown contact with a wave and pulled out a welcoming smile.

 

"Oh? This should be good. What's on your mind, Rivaini?"

 

Isabela took a seat at the private table, easing into a chair with a casual grace and a shit-eating smirk that put Varric instantly on his guard. "Let's talk about _Hawke_ ," she purred.

 

Varric's guts did something sharp and painful, but he managed to keep a smile grimly in place. "What about Hawke? Is she ready to head out on another grand adventure?"

 

"Not that I know of." Isabela reached out and casually stole a bit of bread from his plate. "You may have the others fooled-- hell, maybe you've even fooled yourself --but did you really think I of all people wouldn't notice you going all googly-eyed around our Fearless Leader? Please."

 

"I don't--" Varric stopped himself and tried to leech the defensive tone out of his voice. "You're imagining things, Rivaini." He forced another smile, making an attempt at serene. "You're always playing match maker in your head. Didn't you say just last week that Blondie 'totally wants to nail' the elf?"

 

"Yes, but that was different. I was only joking. Speaking of which, remind me to keep my bright ideas to myself in the future. Anders was _not_ amused. He almost went all glowy-eyed on me."

 

Varric laughed, deftly moving his plate out of reach when Isabela's hand crept towards his bread once more.

 

"I'm not wrong about _this_ , however." The pirate leaned forward to look him right in the eye, her expression momentarily serious. "You're sweet on Hawke. It's written all over your face for anyone to see. Anyone that's looking for it, anyway. And trust me, I'm always looking. Ever since Priest Puritan began his ridiculous attempt at courting, anyway."

 

"Sebastian's not courting Hawke." Isabela smiled slightly at the edge to his voice. "Look, Rivaini, do you really think you should be poking around other peoples' love lives-- or lack thereof --after that mess with Aveline? The two of you almost came to blows just because you couldn't stop giving her and Donnic a hard time."

 

Isabela flapped a hand dismissively. "That was Aveline," she snorted as if that explained everything. "This is Hawke. I care about Hawke, even if she _can_ be a little bit too 'let's help the needy' for her own good sometimes. I'm not going to mess things up for her."

 

"You're wrong, Isabela. Hawke and I are good friends. I respect her."

 

"Oh, you're impossible!" Isabela got to her feet abruptly, exhaling loudly with disgust. "Is this a dwarf thing? Do you not like humans? Or are you afraid she won't like you because you're a dwarf?"

 

Varric's voice was low and hard. "You are really pushing it, Rivaini."

 

Sensing her toe was on the line, Isabela retreated verbally. "Fine, fine. Be the Master of Denial. The King of Liars. The... something of not telling the truth to anyone. See if I care." She pointed at him so suddenly he leaned back, startled. "But don't turn into the idiot Aveline was. If Hawke hadn't stepped in, Aveline wouldn't be all disgusting-happy with that oaf guardsman. All because she was too deep in flailing denial to do something for herself." She shook her head, turning away. "Just think about what I said, Varric. Hawke might not be interested in Sebastian, but sooner or later someone else is going to make a move, and they might succeed. You'll beat yourself up forever if you don't at least _try_ to let her know how you feel."

 

"Good night, Isabela," Varric grumbled, tearing a chunk off his bread with excessive force and avoiding her gaze.

 

" _Hmph_. Good night, grumpy."

 

 

~*~

 

This was stupid. This was so stupid and unbelievable he couldn't have come up with a more heroic bullshit story if he'd tried. The storyteller part of Varric's mind was alive with fierce glee. What a story this would make! He could tell this tale for years to come.

 

The rest of him was a cold hard ball of terror.

 

"I should be the one fighting," Isabela was saying, quiet and intense, fists clenched against her stomach as if she was trying desperately to keep from throwing up. Her wide eyes were glued on the fight. "Why did I come back? Hawke, you noble stupid _wretch_."

 

No one else spoke. The crowd, Qunari and noblemen both, stood against the walls watching the fierce duel in breathless anticipation. Across the floor the two combatants ranged, one almost painfully smaller than the other, lithe and quick; here and then gone, blades flickering out again and again. Hawke was fast and bloody skilled, and had never backed down from a fight in her life. But the Arishok towered over her like a dragon, swinging his double headed ax in lethal arcs that Hawke barely managed to dodge or block in time. And every time she leapt back for a breather he came barreling after her, roaring like a bull, sometimes ramming into her and throwing her clear across the floor. If not for that damned mabari mutt of hers snapping at the Arishok's heels and keeping him distracted, she'd be dead ten times by now.

 

And there was Anders.

 

Anders, nails digging into his palms, lips barely moving, threads of blue lightening lancing across his face as he struggled to keep Justice at bay. Hawke would dodge too slowly, catch a slash across the ribs or back, and fall as if dead-- only to scramble painfully to her feet just in time to avoid the next blow as Anders kept up a steady stream of healing magic. It was cheating, but Hawke had not brought enough potions with her, and that damned Arishok kept downing potions every time Hawke so much as nicked him. He was bigger and stronger than Hawke to a frightening degree, and nothing she did seemed to faze him for long. All she could do was keep at it until he eventually ran out of potions, and by then she would be near exhaustion, stamina draughts notwithstanding. The burst of adrenaline each stamina boost gave her would be coming back to haunt her in the morning. She would be a wreck.

 

Provided she even survived to see the morning.

 

Once again Varric found his hand raising slowly towards Bianca, but Fenris reached out and seized his wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't you dare. You'll only make things worse. If you step in now, the rest of the Qunari will openly attack everything that moves in here. Starting with Hawke." He glanced towards Anders, then looked away. For all his hatred of mages, even he would not dare stop Anders now. Not when he may be the only thing keeping Hawke on her feet.

 

Varric forced himself to let his hand drop by his side, unable to pull his gaze away from the fight. It _should_ be Isabela out there, he thought with a flash of rare cold anger. All of this was her fault. She should be the one dueling the damned Arishok. And if Hawke wasn't such a noble bleeding-hearted _moron_ , she'd have handed Isabela over to the Qunari without hesitation. He couldn't even find it in himself to be upset at the ruthlessness of the thought. His friendship with the Rivaini had taken an abrupt backseat to his almost numbing fear for Hawke's safety. She'd fought an ogre, she'd taken out a dragon, and she'd been in her share of scraps. But never _alone_. Bianca should be there with her, and the elf should be stepping up, swinging that ridiculous sword of his. This was not a fight Hawke should have to fight on her own. Not for anyone's sake. This was not how he wanted Hawke to prove herself to be the hero he told everyone she was. He wanted a friend, not a martyr.

 

It felt like the fight dragged on for hours. There were so many close calls that Varric was sure his heart would never recover from the strain. But it was Hawke's blades that slipped in and found a home in between the Arishok's ribs, even as his ax whistled over her head, clipping off a few strands of hair. She must have hit something important, because this time when the great gray giant fell, he didn't get up again.

 

Hawke stood over him, limbs quivering, daggers coated in blood, and gasped raggedly for breath as the Arishok lay on his back, struggling weakly to voice some last threat unheard by anyone but the victor. The moment his head fell back, Varric bolted across the room, the others on his heels. Fenris was quickest; he caught Hawke just as her knees gave out. Anders was at her side an instant later, face bathed in sweat as he pumped as much magical healing into her bleeding body as he could. Varric stood tensely close by, shoulder to shoulder with Isabela, a living barrier between Hawke and the Qunari as they slowly collected their weapons and filed out of the room without a single change in expression. Varric kept Bianca trained on them until the last Qunari was gone. By then Anders's magic seemed to be having the desired effect. Hawke was standing on her own, exhausted and dazed but no longer at death's door.

 

"Don't ever let me do that again," she chuckled weakly.

 

Isabela glared at her, looking torn between tears and laughter. Finally she settled for hitting Hawke-- gently --on the shoulder. "You're so stupid!"

 

"I never claimed to be my mother's smartest daughter. Only her prettiest." Hawke managed to dig up a teasing grin, and Isabela laughed back, a quick, short bark, before she turned her back on them all and scrubbed furiously at her face. Hawke politely pretended not to notice, and winked slowly at Varric. The effect was a little ruined by the blood that had matted in her hair and leaked down the side of her face, gluing one eye shut. "Well? Impressive, huh? You're already composing this story in your head, aren't you?"

 

"You wound me, madam. I started composing it the minute you two drew your weapons."

 

She laughed, then winced, pressing a hand delicately to her abdomen. "I never ever want to see another Qunari again. Seriously. If we pass one in the streets, do me a favor and throw a blanket over them or something." She turned a grateful look on Anders. "Thanks. You probably saved my bacon about fifteen times back there."

 

"Heads up, it's the Knight Commander," Isabela interrupted sharply. "She looks like she has a thing or two she'd like to say."

 

"I'll bet," Anders grumbled.

 

Hawke sighed, belatedly sheathing her daggers. "Hell, after this, she'd better at least give me a really really big monetary reward."

 

Meredith did one better.

 

She declared Hawke Champion of Kirkwall.

 

 

~*~

 

"How is she?"

 

Varric looked up with a start, caught on the verge of a nap. Rubbing roughly at his eyes, he leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh of exhaustion. "She'll be fine." His voice was rough from lack of use. Just how long had he been sitting vigil? A day? Two? He squinted towards the dark window and dug in his pocket for a match. "Blondie was in here for most of yesterday keeping tabs on her. She's more worn out than anything else. Taking all that stamina crap didn't help." He lit the candle on the bedside table and cast the slumbering form on the bed an anxious look before turning grumpy eyes towards the figure hesitating in the doorway. "She's not exactly up for a chat if that's why you're asking. Well? Are you coming in or not?"

 

Sebastian wavered, then finally crossed the threshold. It occurred to Varric belatedly that the other man was probably embarrassed at entering a lady's bedchamber uninvited, but he was too tired to be amused. Irritation, however, crept forward readily as he spied the bouquet-- slightly crushed by nervous hands --the priest was cradling.

 

"Andraste's puckered ass, Sebastian," he snapped, barely keeping his voice down in time. "Are you out of your mind? _Lilies_? After her--"

 

"Her mother," Sebastian finished, turning pale and looking so terrible Varric almost felt sorry for him. "I wasn't thinking. I just... they were pretty, and..." He stared at the flowers helplessly for a moment, then abruptly went to the open window and chucked them out as if afraid Hawke would awaken at any second and see the hated bloom. "I'm sorry. I'm... not thinking straight lately." He ran a hand fretfully through his hair and came to stand at the foot of the bed. "She looks terrible," he said after a long moment. "But you look worse. How long have you been sitting here?"

 

The dwarf shrugged, massaging his temples to ward off a headache. "Not long," he lied. "Aveline insisted someone keep watch and make sure she doesn't take a turn for the worse. Blondie can do good work, but some of the injuries were still pretty bad-- worse than Hawke let on, anyway. I think the horned bastard actually impaled her at one point. We can't have her moving around too soon. Daisy's supposed to come over later and sit with her."

 

"Somehow I don't think Hawke will be pleased at being bedridden," Sebastian murmured with a small, fond smile. "Thank the Maker she's all right."

 

"Thank Blondie, you mean."

 

Sebastian's face darkened momentarily, but he shook off his annoyance. "Will you tell her I came by? I just had to see for myself that she was all right."

 

Varric eyed him sideways. "Why didn't you come earlier?"

 

"I didn't want to get in Anders's way. And I was praying for her. I wasn't even sure she'd want me here." His eyes lowered. "Hawke's a good friend. But she made it clear last time we talked that..." He trailed off.

 

"That she's not as interested in you as you are in her," Varric guessed, feeling a surprising twinge of sympathy.

 

Sebastian nodded. "I understand. I cannot offer her the kind of life she'd expect from a, er... Well. I could never be her lover. I've taken vows, and she respects that. I wish her every happiness with the one she does choose. Assuming she was even telling the truth about that and not just trying to let me down gently."

 

"Come again?"

 

"She implied that there's someone she cares for, though she seemed reluctant to broach the subject, and I thought it impolite to push." The priest looked at Varric curiously. "You spend more time with her than anyone. She brings you with her on all of her strange jobs. Do you know of whom she spoke?"

 

"No." He tried to squash a flash of alarm. So the choirboy was officially out of the picture, but only because she'd been eyeballing someone else the whole time? Damn. It was Anders. Had to be. No, the elf. He'd sure been pretty tense after the fight with the Arishok.

 

Oh, hell, what if it was Isabela? That woman had flirted casually with just about everyone in the group, and Hawke had never openly turned her down.

 

Shit. Damn.

 

"Are you all right?"

 

"Just tired. I'll tell her you said hi."

 

Sebastian nodded and turned away. He was almost to the door when Varric's quiet voice stopped him.

 

"Choirboy."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Next time bring daisies. They're her favorite."


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke made a terrible patient.

 

She seemed amused by her friends' concern at first, and even seemed to revel being somewhat pampered: having her meals brought to her in bed, being waited on, and enjoying visits. By the fourth day, however, she was chafing at the restrictions placed upon her by Anders, and had made more than one attempt to escape the house. She _had_ been impaled, as it turned out, and though the healing magic had a wondrous effect, any exertion risked tearing the wound open again or, more likely, causing internal bleeding.

 

"What kind of 'exertions' do you think I'll be getting into?" Hawke demanded huffily, refusing to cooperate as the mage attempted to check her pulse. She stuffed her hands under the blankets to keep her wrists out of his grasp, pouting like a child. "I'm not exactly about to have wild monkey sex with anyone, now am I?"

 

"For Maker's sake, Hawke," Anders protested. "You can't be serious. You go _looking_ for trouble! If I turn my back for one minute you'll go jogging down the Wounded Coast looking to pick a fight with bandits. In what mad world is fighting not 'exertion'? Give me your blasted wrist!"

 

"Come and get it."

 

"I will. I'm not Sebastian."

 

Scowling, Hawke reluctantly withdrew her hand and allowed him to place his fingertips professionally against the inside of her wrist. "When are you going to tell Madam Bodyguard to take a hike and actually let me get some sunshine? I can't take this much longer."

 

Aveline cut an unsympathetic form from where she stood solidly blocking the doorway, arms crossed and legs apart as if expecting to be tackled at any minute. Wounded or not, she'd learned the hard way how quick Hawke could be. "Quit your bitching, Hawke. This is for your own good."

 

"It shouldn't be much longer," Anders soothed, releasing Hawke's hand and reaching for a potion. "Take a sip of this. Maker willing, you should be out of the house by the end of the week. I'd still advise against any truly strenuous fighting, though. You've got a bow. Use it and fight from a distance if you get into trouble."

 

"That'd probably be worse than daggers," Hawke grumbled, taking a sip of the potion with a grimace. "Drawing a bow uses a lot of muscles in weird places. Especially one that size. Don't you know anything?"

 

"Forgive me for relying on my magic stick," Anders drawled, taking the bottle away and tucking it into his robes. He got to his feet, eyeing her sternly. "Aveline has her duties with the guard, and I have other patients who need my attention at the clinic. Can I trust you to be a responsible adult and stay in bed, or do I need to lay a paralyzing spell down?"

 

Hawke rolled her eyes, thumping her head back against her pillows. "I'll be good, Mommy."

 

"Watch it, smartass, or I'll turn you into a toad."

 

"I stopped by the Hanged Man on my way over," Aveline said. "I ran into Varric. He's planning on stopping by soon. He can keep you company and make sure you don't do anything stupid."

 

"Varric's coming over?" Hawke's hand strayed unconsciously towards her tangled hair.

 

"He was here pretty much the whole time you were unconscious." Aveline frowned at her. "Didn't he tell you? You just haven't seen much of him since you woke up because he had family business to take care of."

 

Anders snorted. "More like he was avoiding having to be dragged into family business, you mean." He pinned Hawke with a narrow gaze. "Behave, Hawke. I mean it. If you start bleeding internally, we might not find out until it's too late. Understand?"

 

"Fine, fine," Hawke muttered distractedly, digging through the drawers in her nightstand. "Anyone seen my comb?"

 

Anders arched a brow, then smiled suddenly. "Well. We'll be leaving now. Say hello to Varric for us."

 

"Help me find my comb, jackass!"

 

"Bye, Hawke!" Anders called over his shoulder, shooing a puzzled Aveline on ahead of him.

 

"Anders--"

 

"Play nice, now!"

 

"WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN?"

 

~*~

 

Bodahn let Varric in with a familiar smile. "Ah, Master Varric! Messere said she was expecting you. She's upstairs."

 

"She'd better be. Any more escape attempts today?"

 

"Heard about that, did you?" Bodahn shut the heavy door and led the way to the staircase. "She's been... feeling a little cooped up, poor thing."

 

"A _little_?" came Hawke's faint shout.

 

Varric grinned, tipping the other dwarf a wink. "I don't blame her for wanting to get some exercise," he said, pitching his voice deliberately loud enough to be heard upstairs. "She's going to start packing on some pounds if she just lies around so much."

 

"Fuck you very much, Varric!" There was the thump of heels on the floorboards, and Varric hastened upstairs with a quiet curse.

 

"Get your butt back in bed," he commanded, quickly blocking the bedroom door with his body.

 

Hawke was standing by the window, barefoot and in nothing but a nightshirt, straining on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the city. "Who put all these windows in so damned high?" she grumbled without looking back at him. "I need a stool just to get a view from my own house."

 

Varric's brain stuttered and provided only one unhelpful word.

 

Legs.

 

Hawke was showing way too much leg. He jerked his eyes hastily to a safer spot-- a water stain on the wall. "Bed, Hawke. Anders doesn't want you moving around too much."

 

Hawke made a face but obediently went to sit on the edge of her bed. "I took a long nap earlier and I'm not tired. Please tell me you brought cards or alcohol or _something_."

 

"Or something." With a quirky smile, Varric produced a battered parchment. "Lookit what I found just lying around."

 

"What? Another copy of Anders's manifesto?" Hawke sent her desk a significant look. "Believe me, I've read the damned thing. Some of it, anyway. He likes to leave at least one lying around the house."

 

Varric snagged a chair and dragged it over to the bedside. "No, this is much more entertaining." Clearing his throat, he held the parchment up to the candlelight and began reading aloud in a sappy voice. "I have prayed for the Maker's guidance and forgiveness every night. I have sought to calm my heart when your mere presence causes me to doubt myself and every vow I ever took--"

 

"Oh Maker, tell me that is NOT what I think it is," Hawke gasped, flushing to the roots of her hair. She made a grab for the paper, but Varric held it gleefully out of reach, raising his voice to drown out her complaints.

 

"Your beauty catches my eye and your voice my heart--"

 

"Varric, stop it!"

 

"I find myself wishing we had but met at an earlier time in my life--"

 

"Where did you find that?!"

 

"Well, it may have been balled up in the fireplace at the Hanged Man, just out of reach of the fire. I saved it from a sudden death and thought it deserved to be heard." He laughed at the expression on her face. "Come on, you should feel flattered. You made choirboy all gushy. I thought women liked sensitive men."

 

"It's not funny, Varric!" She finally managed to snatch it away and wadded it up furiously. Her face was still red, but there was a hint of anger to her embarrassment. "This was obviously very private, Varric, and he never intended to let me see it. That's cruel."

 

He coughed, fighting back a smile. "You're right. I apologize, Hawke."

 

She muttered something darkly about burning it later and stuffed the love letter into her drawer. Varric's humor faded. She was angry. He'd been hoping the joke would be appreciated, but on reflection he was beginning to think it had been a stupid idea.

 

"I'm sorry," he said again, more honestly. "I just thought you could use a laugh."

 

"Varric, you're funny enough without trying to humiliate me and Sebastian so thoroughly," Hawke sighed, scooting across the bed so she was sitting with her back to the headboard. She seemed a little mollified by his apology. "I know you've never been that fond of him, but that's kind of a low blow."

 

He bit back a whisper of irritation. Why was she defending the prat? She didn't even care for him in that way. His thoughts flickered back to his last conversation with the priest and his mood soured further. "Well, what can I say, self-righteous hypocrites tend to rub me the wrong way."

 

She glared at him. "I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up, not trying to get a rise out of me."

 

"Sorry, but I'm not Mr. Happy twenty-four hours a day, cupcake. Maybe you'd like Sebastian to keep you company instead."

 

Her eyes flashed, a brief look of hurt crossing her face. "You don't have to be such a jerk. What crawled up your butt and died?"

 

He felt his lips quirk in a smile despite himself. "The Hanged Man gets pretty big roaches."

 

"Oh, you're disgusting!" she exclaimed, giving a startled laugh.

 

The tension eased, and Varric settled into a more relaxed position in his chair. "Sorry. Everyone's been a little on edge lately. Not just because of you deciding to tap dance at death's door, either. Meredith and Aveline have the whole city on high alert. There's no guarantee the Qunari won't suddenly come flooding into the harbor intent on revenge."

 

Hawke frowned. "The Arishok's last words were that his people would return one day," she said quietly. "A part of me hoped it was last minute bravado, but I don't doubt his words. Sooner or later this city is going to pay for what I did."

 

"You _saved_ this city, Hawke. And you refused to give up a friend. Even if those bastards do come marching in one day, no one in Kirkwall will blame you for it."

 

"I don't think you understand the nobility here. They make an art out of backstabbing and spreading blame."

 

"They're not in charge of Kirkwall, despite their delusions. Meredith is, for better or for worse. And she's a hardass, but I think she's got your back. She respects you for what you did."

 

"Oh, yay." Hawke reached out idly to wave her fingers through the candle's flame. "So did you bring anything else to amuse me with other than embarrassing love letters and a sharp tongue?"

 

Varric unshouldered Bianca and laid her against the nightstand, digging a pack of cards from his pocket. "I think it's time for some Strip Wicked Grace." He wagged his brows teasingly.

 

Hawke laughed. "You wish." She raised her voice to a shout. "Bodahn, be a wonderful dwarf and bring us some wine, will you?"

 

Bodahn's reply was decidedly reluctant. "But Master Anders doesn't want you taking in too much alcohol until you're finished healing."

 

"I won't tell him if you don't," Hawke shouted back tartly. "And if he asks, tell him to mount a mabari. Wiiiine!"

 

"Very well, Messere," came the aggrieved answer.

 

Varric chuckled, expertly shuffling the deck. "You're doing enough whining for the both of us, Hawke. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

 

"Shut up and deal the cards, Mr. Happy."

 

 

~*~

 

 

Wicked Grace turned out to be fairly dull and quick with only two players, so they ended up playing a game Varric had devised in his youth. It was simply called Devise and Conquer, similar to Wicked Grace in the fact that it had more to do with cunning rather than skill, relying heavily on guessing what cards your partner held. It was, as he so succinctly put it, the perfect game for a pair of rogues.

 

"I used to play this with Bartrand," Varric admitted, keeping one eye on his cards as he reached for his wineglass. Hawke, classy as always, was swigging hers from a simple ceramic mug. "Now I mostly just play with Isabela."

 

"Somehow I don't see Bartrand as the clever card playing type," Hawke murmured in amusement, glancing from her cards to Varric's face, trying to get a sense of whether or not he was pleased with his hand. She hesitated, then drew from the deck.

 

"Nope. I used to wipe the floor with him. He wasn't exactly a gracious loser, either. He'd end up throwing his cards at me or flipping the table over, depending on how much ale he'd had." He set his wineglass aside, smacking his lips appreciatively. This sure beat drinking rotgut in the Hanged Man. For all the affection he had for the place, nothing beat sipping fine wine in a cozy bedroom with a beautiful woman. The wine was even relaxing him enough to finally loosen his silver tongue, and he was at least half as charming as he usually was, thank the Maker. "Isabela's a crafty little boll weevil, though. She usually manages to beat me." He arranged his hand more to his satisfaction and selected a card carefully, lying it facedown on the blanket. He'd moved to the bed so they could sit across from each other and play more easily. This had made him more uptight than he liked to admit, which had caused him to drink more wine than he should have in so short a time.

 

Hawke pursed her lips as she studied her cards, then slowly placed one opposite Varric's. Keeping one finger on the card, she met his eyes with a sneaky grin. "All right, Tethras. Let's see what you've got."

 

He smirked back, hand hovering over his own card. "It's not too late to make this Strip Devise and Conquer, you know."

 

Her chuckle was low and deep, and made Varric swallow hard. "Maybe next time," she promised.

 

Apparently she'd had too much wine as well. Clearing his throat and hoping his ears weren't as pink as they felt, he said, "Two silvers mine trumps yours."

 

"I'll take that bet." She flipped her card over, and he followed suit. "OHH, you tricky little bastard!" she cried, laughing.

 

"I'm going to make you a poor woman if we keep this up much longer," Varric declared smugly, making a mark on the tally sheet. "You owe me almost a sovereign already."

 

"You dirty cheat," she gasped, leaning forward suddenly to look at the paper. He managed somehow to keep his eyes away from the brief flash of cleavage that presented itself at the move. "I do not! Have you been marking some of my wins on your side?"

 

"Maaaybe." His grin widened as he shifted the paper out of her reach. "Should have been paying more attention, Hawke."

 

"You're a horrible man, Varric Tethras. I should sic my mabari on you."

 

"Please. He enjoys playing cards with me too much to ever turn on me." He swept the two cards aside and drew another from the deck. "That's the end of the blind round. Time to put up or shut up, Hawke." He eyed her over his cards as if viewing her from behind a crossbow, squinting his eyes menacingly for good measure. She followed suit, but ruined it with a smothered giggle. Hawke. Giggling. Maker, he needed to get her alone and tipsy more often. She tended to swing more towards buddy-buddy/violent drunk when drinking rotgut. He made a mental note to keep a bottle of wine in his room at the Hanged Man for future card games.

 

 

~*~

 

They finished the round, Hawke watching him as closely as her namesake to make sure he marked her win correctly this time. As he shuffled the deck, she refilled both their glasses, her eyes landing on the slender vase of daisies on the windowsill. "Bodahn says Sebastian dropped those off when I was taking a nap yesterday. Isn't that sweet? I was half afraid things would be awkward between us. He even guessed what my favorite flowers are."

 

"Yeah, he's a great guy," Varric muttered, wondering for the nth time if he should have gotten her a get-well gift at some point. Too late for that now. "Love that codpiece of his. Especially how it stares at you, all judging."

 

She laughed, almost spilling her wine. "Poor Sebastian. He's too good a man to hang out with the likes of us. I wish he and Bethany could have gotten to know each other. She's such a sweetie, I'm sure they'd have clicked right away." She trailed off, staring into her mug with a shadow of melancholy. "Poor Beth. I miss her." She closed her eyes briefly. "Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing in the Deep Roads. She hasn't written me much, but when she does, she just sounds... so hard now. Almost bitter. Her life isn't easy now, and I don't like how Anders keeps hinting at how much worse it will get in a few years."

 

"It was make her a Warden or let her die," Varric reminded her gently. "You didn't have a choice. You saved her life."

 

"I shouldn't have let her go with us at all. I'm her big sister. I'm supposed to protect her." Her voice wavered, and she shut her mouth tightly, shaking her head in a visible effort to banish such thoughts. "Well, nothing I can do about it now," she sighed. "And you're right. At least she's alive." Clearing her throat and blinking hard a few times, she set the mug aside and gathered the cards Varric had dealt her. "I haven't even told her yet, you know. About the Arishok, and being made Champion. I started writing the letter the other day, but I feel like I don't even know how to talk to her anymore. She's so distant. I know a part of her resents me."

 

"She loves you," Varric said, voice firm. "Her life's a little harder now, but she's a tough girl. She can handle it. You guys will get past this." He arranged his hand, the suits not even registering. He was tense as a wire, terrified Hawke would start crying. He had no idea how he was going to deal with that. He'd never been very good with crying women, and he'd _never_ seen Hawke cry. Even when she'd been in that hellish basement cradling her mother's body she'd managed to bottle it up. He was willing to bet she'd kept it all inside until she was in the privacy of her own house. He'd been too much of a coward to attempt to visit and comfort her then, and the shame of that made him doubly uneasy about the prospect of tears now. "As for current events," he continued, keeping his voice light, "I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm sure she's heard by now, or will soon enough. Word travels fast. You're the hot topic of the month. I hear they're talking about erecting a statue in your honor at the docks."

 

"You're joking."

 

"Nope."

 

She giggled again, passing a hand briefly over her face to hide a surprised flush. "Andraste's tits. I wasn't trying to be some big damned hero."

 

"Yeah, well, you happen to be one, so deal with the perks." He took a sip of wine and drew from the deck. "Your move, Champion."

 

She hemmed and hawed for a moment before deciding to keep what she had. As Varric studied his cards, trying to decide if she was bluffing or not, she chanced a sly peek at him over her mug.

 

"Varric."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"I heard you, you know."

 

Distracted, he frowned briefly at her before returning his eyes to his cards. "What? When?"

 

"The other night. When Sebastian first came here with his atrocious present of lilies."

 

Varric went very still.

 

"Just how long were you sitting with me, anyway? While I was unconscious, I mean."

 

Varric couldn't seem to find the courage to lift his stare from his cards, though they might as well have been written in old elvish for all the sense they suddenly made. "Not.. long."

 

"Funny. Bodahn says you were here pretty much constantly for the first couple days."

 

"I drew the short straw."

 

"Hm."

 

He finally risked a quick look at her. She was studying her cards thoughtfully, sipping at her wine. He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no one else could do it," he finally relented. "And someone had to make sure you didn't, you know, _die_."

 

"Bodahn could've watched me."

 

"Maker's breath, Hawke, what do you want me to say?" he demanded, more sharply than he'd meant to. He could feel a flush creeping up his neck.

 

"I... never mind. I don't know." She drew a card from the deck slowly. She still hadn't looked back at him. "You've just been a little weird lately. You don't joke as easily with me as you used to."

 

Because I can't think straight when you're around anymore.

Because every time I try to tease you, I'm afraid you'll read into it wrong.

Because I'm afraid you'll laugh at me instead of with me if you knew what was wrong with me.

 

The thoughts flickered and died without ever reaching his lips. Instead he said with forced cheer, "There's just been a lot going on lately. Don't take it so personally, Hawke."

 

Bianca tipped over from where she was propped up and cracked hard against the foot he was dangling over the side of the bed.

 

"OUCH!" He rubbed at his foot, glaring at Bianca where she lay innocently on the ground. "What was that for?"

 

Hawke arched a brow, trying to suppress a smile. "Your crossbow slips and falls and you think it's attacking you. Right. I knew you were a little insane, Varric, but sometimes you worry me."

 

"Only sometimes?" He got up and retrieved Bianca, checking her carefully to make sure the fall hadn't done any harm before settling her comfortably in a chair.

 

"Varric?"

 

Hawke was leaning against the headboard once more, slender fingers rubbing almost nervously along the rim of her mug. She'd tucked up one long bare leg and was looking at him with an odd expression from behind a protective fall of hair.

 

Varric's throat felt dry, but he coughed and forced calm into his voice. "Yes?"

 

"...Nothing. Never mind." She passed a hand briefly across her brow. "I'm just tired. Too much wine does that to me. I'll have to take a rain check for kicking your ass in cards."

 

"You seem sadly deluded about the inevitable outcome of this game," Varric chuckled, collecting the cards in one practiced sweep. He couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved. "Get some rest, Hawke. You'll be up and about in no time. There will be bandits to rob, caves to explore..."

 

"Obscenely large spiders to stomp."

 

"And all the dead bodies you can loot." Shouldering Bianca, he offered a cocky salute. "Good night, Hawke. Pleasant dreams."

 

"I don't doubt it," she murmured as she slipped under her covers, a smile playing at her lips.

 

Sebastian's words from the other night dug painfully at Varric's brain, and he had to turn away and leave before she saw how quickly his smile turned into a grimace. Just who did she dream about at night? Cripes, he was going to have to keep an eye on her interactions with the others. Maybe if he at least _knew_ , he'd be able to move past this.

 

"And no comments from the peanut gallery," he said darkly to the crossbow radiating disapproval from his back.

 

Bodahn, holding the door open for him, only stared back in confusion.

 

~*~

 

"THE BITCH IS BACK!"

 

Aveline took a moment to frown in Hawke's direction, lifting her shield automatically to block the short sword that darted towards her chest. "Do you have to say that _every_ time we ambush these idiots?"

 

"They're like roaches! I've been off the streets for what, a week, and they decide to swarm all over Hightown?" Hawke darted around a charging mercenary and plunged her dagger between his shoulder blades almost as an afterthought. "I mean, how stupid do you have to be to start shit practically on the front lawn of the _Champion_?"

 

"She is going to flaunt that title like there's no tomorrow, isn't she?" Aveline observed, slashing her sword across the throat of her opponent.

 

"Oh, let her preen," Isabela laughed, appearing at the woman's side in a blur of smoke to fend off another mercenary coming in from the right. "She's just glad to be out of that big stuffy house." She raised her voice mockingly. "And you don't have a 'lawn', sweetie. You live in the city."

 

"Semantics!" Hawke hastily ducked a blast of fire. "Uh, Merrill, did you plan on doing anything about that mage chap, or...?"

 

"I'm working on it, there's no need to be pushy," the elf huffed. With a flick of her staff she sent the cloaked blood mage running blindly down the streets, screaming at the horrors he saw suddenly in every corner.

 

It didn't take much longer to finish off the remainder of their attackers, and Hawke stood with a triumphant little smirk in place as her friends put up their weapons and drew near.

 

"Yup, I've still got it," she announced, wiping off her daggers carelessly on a nearby corpse. She winced as she straightened up, and tried to hide it with a fake yawn when Aveline peered suspiciously at her.

 

"Are you in pain? You're supposed to be careful."

 

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm just a little sore. Relax."

 

Aveline sighed, fidgeting needlessly with her scabbard. "This is not why I came over. All right, I suppose I may as well bring it up now so I don't have to go see each of you individually. I've been keeping this to myself for a little while, but, well..." She cleared her throat as the others looked at her with interest. "Donnic proposed the other night--"

 

"Ohhh!" Merrill squealed, clapping her hands in excitement. "I mean-- you said yes, didn't you? Oh, that would be awkward if... well... Should I be clapping?"

 

"Yes, Merrill, I accepted."

 

"Oh, _score_ for lady manhands!" Isabela crowed, giving the frowning woman a congratulatory punch to the shoulder. "I was wondering if he'd be able to gather the nerve!"

 

"Yes. Thank you. I think. _Anyway_ , the wedding is set for a week from now, and I'd like you all to be there." She studied Isabela with something like resignation. "Even you, I suppose, if you promise to behave."

 

"I'm touched," Isabela drawled. "I'll do my very best to behave. You have my word." Aveline did not look convinced by the wicked smile that followed this vow.

 

"I'm happy for you, Aveline," Hawke said, giving the woman a brief hug that was awkwardly returned. "Of course I'll be there. But, uh, isn't this a little fast?"

 

The guardswoman shrugged. "We lead dangerous lives. The Qunari uprising only made that abundantly clear, as if all this tension between the Templars and mages wasn't enough. We love each other. I think putting it off would be a mistake. I don't want to drag my heels and regret it later. It's not pretty, but the truth is either of us could end up dead in an alley any given day of the week. If I've got a week left, I'd like to have spent it with Donnic."

 

"Atta girl," Isabela approved.

 

Hawke glanced away, looking troubled.

 

"I suppose I should stop by Fenris's while I'm in Hightown," Aveline added, glancing up the street. "I don't see him as the wedding type, but it seems rude not to ask. Besides, he needs to get out of that mansion and stop brooding so much." She looked at Hawke. "Will you go ahead and ask Varric for me?"

 

"What?" Hawke stared back a little wide-eyed. "Isabela's the one who rooms at the Hanged Man. Why are you asking me?"

 

Aveline frowned at her. "Either one of you can ask, I don't care. You are going to see him later, aren't you? You spend almost as much time at the Hanged Man as they do. Since you're feeling better, I thought you'd go back to playing cards with them in the evenings."

 

"Oh. Right. Hahaha." Hawke cleared her throat. "Maybe later."

 

Isabela leveled the woman with an exasperated look. "We need to talk later." Ignoring Hawke's blank look, she gave Aveline another prod to the shoulder, possibly just to evoke the scowl that earned her. "I'll tell him. Better put him down as plus one."

 

" _What_?"

 

"I'm talking about Bianca, Hawke. Calm down."

 

Hawke bristled defensively, suddenly taking a keen interest in checking her gloves for stray threads. "I'm calm. I know what you meant. I just-- Hey, anyone feel like stopping by Darktown? There's probably more muggers that need to get their asses kicked. And we can tell Anders on the way."

 

"Tell him he had better _not_ be plus one," Aveline said firmly. "If I see even a hint of Justice, I'm throwing him out. I won't have my wedding ruined by him going all _you know nothing of magic_ in the middle of my vows. There are going to be a couple of Templars there. Donnic's friends." She looked at Merrill appraisingly. "You have to behave, too, Merrill. Just steer clear of them and act... un-mage-like, and you should be fine. They won't be there hunting for mages, so unless you do something, uh... more Merrilly-esque than normal, you should be fine."

 

"I'll tell Anders to keep it in his skull," Hawke promised.

 

"Oh, this is so exciting!" the mage exclaimed, clasping her hands together. She went suddenly still, sending Aveline a frightened look. "I don't have a thing to wear."

 

Isabela chuckled fondly. "I'll take you shopping, kitten. You should come too, Hawke. We'll make a girl's day of it."

 

"Oh goody," Hawke deadpanned.

 

"If you show up in fishnets, I swear I will hang you in the Gallows by your toes," Aveline warned darkly.

 

Isabela waved a careless hand. "Oh, just go talk to broody-pants. I promise not to embarrass you. Too much."

 

Aveline sighed. "I'm going to regret this."

 

"The wedding?"

 

"No. Inviting all of you."


	3. Chapter 3

Anders declined the wedding invitation, though he did send a gift. Surprisingly, Fenris _did_ show up at the Chantry-- on time and everything. He even managed to charm the socks off of the other guests with his exotic looks and a calm politeness.

 

Hawke, Varric, and Isabela of course made a beeline for the long table set up with food and spirits the moment the official vows were over with and everyone was encouraged to “drink and be merry”.

 

“That's an order I have no problem following from Miss Captain of The Guard,” Isabela chuckled, wagging her goblet under the server's nose when he didn't give quite enough wine.

 

“Good grief, I think every single member of the Guard must have contributed a dish,” Hawke said around a mouthful of delicate pale cheese. She was methodically filling her plate with everything in reach while Varric looked on in a mixture of amazement and humor.

 

“Maker's breath, Hawke, where do you put it all?”

 

“Tell me about it,” Isabela huffed, eyeing the loaded plate with envy.

 

“Seriously?” Hawke rolled her eyes, cramming half a croissant into her mouth. “Unlike you lazy turds, who only fight if I come looking for you, I get into scraps pretty much every day. It's nonstop exercise. I'm _always_ hungry.”

 

“Trust me, we've noticed,” Varric drawled. “But you're packing it away like you're facing a famine.”

 

“I skipped breakfast,” Hawke admitted, scowling at Isabela. “Because _someone_ had to drag me out for some last minute shopping.”

 

“It's not _my_ fault you're impossible to shop for!”

 

For the fifth time since arriving Varric reminded himself to stop staring like a bugeyed idiot. “You look nice,” he said, trying to make it sound as casual as possible.

 

It worked a little _too_ well. Hawke barely acknowledged it as a compliment at all, seeming to read it more as friendly reassurance. “Yeah?” She held her plate away from her to look down at herself skeptically. “Well I feel like a complete twit. You know this is probably only the second time in my life I've worn a dress? And these shoes, don't get me started on these demented torture devices. I am going to fall on my ass in front of everyone--”

 

Isabela elbowed her sharply in the ribs, almost causing her to double over and spill her plate. “He said _you look nice_. Say thank you, you prat.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Thanks.” Hawke hesitated, cheeks going ever so slightly pink. She looked at herself again, this time with less contempt and more timid concern. “It doesn't, uh, look weird on me?”

 

Weird.

 

Hah.

 

Varric managed to swallow. “Nah,” he said, ever-so-suave.

 

_Yep, way to sweep her off her feet, you sugar-coated charmer._

 

_Someone kill me._

 

Isabela was giving him an exasperated look that suggested she was considering the idea. “Right. You two enjoy stuffing your faces. I'm going to go tease the bride for a minute. Don't you two forget to go up and say hey, too, or they'll think you only came for the food.” With a teasing wink, the rogue sashayed off.

 

She had, of course, managed to find a dress both expensive and yet revealing as hell. She was only going up to Aveline in order to enrage the woman, Varric was sure. Several of the men in the room were following the pirate with hungry eyes.

 

Which was fine; it meant few of them had noticed Hawke. Admittedly, the awkward way she carried herself probably weirded a few of them out. It was obvious she wasn't used to the dress shoes, and even all dolled up, she stalked like an assassin instead of slinking like a lady. It was like someone had dressed up a fox and let it loose in the room with a bunch of puffed-up peacocks. Varric found the oddity strangely endearing.

 

The dress was a lot more refined than Isabela's; they'd clearly gone shopping for it in Hightown to find something suitable for the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall. He shuddered to think of the cost.

 

The fabric was something very like silk, which meant it clung to the shape of her body in rather distracting ways at times. The dark blue went nicely with her eyes, and the sheer sleeves showed off a hint of the strength in her arms while the low cut to the back made thinking a little difficult whenever Hawke briefly turned away to survey the crowd.

 

Varric was in hell. They'd been at the Chantry for less than two hours, and half the time he opened his mouth around her something idiotic came out. His descent into brain damage had started approximately two seconds after she'd walked through the door and he'd gotten his first look at her.

 

It was a good thing he'd left Bianca with the doorman, he reflected. She would be burning a hole into his back with jealousy by now.

 

“Have you seen Merrill?” Hawke looked around for the other woman. “She kind of looks like a plant. But in a neat way. It's hard to explain. Isabela thought she'd look good in some gauzy green thing that looked hideous on the shelf but somehow suits Merill really-- What? What is it? Did I spill something on this ridiculous dress?” Hawke brushed self-consciously at her chest.

 

Damn it. There was no way she was doing this on purpose. Why did women always automatically assume they'd spilled something onto their breasts? Admittedly, Hawke's were just big enough to catch anything she might drop-- _All right, stop right there, you horrible little pervert._

 

“You got it,” Varric lied, staring at his biscuit as if was the most extraordinary culinary thing he'd ever beheld. He was not about to admit his eyes had somehow become firmly attached to his friend's bosom, regardless of the frantic pleas of his brain to divert their attention somewhere less humiliating.

 

~*~

 

“So, congratulations, you two,” Hawke said, clasping Donnic's hand in a firm grip. “I hope you take care of each other as much as you do this city.”

 

“Thank you, Champion,” Donnic said, smiling from ear to ear. Then he flinched, trying to tug his hand free from Hawke's suddenly crushing grip. “Er--”

 

Hawke smiled up at him grimly. “You're a good man, Donnic, so I'm assuming it's pointless to say something so trite as 'hurt her and I'll break both of your legs'.”

 

“I think you just did.”

 

“Oh, stop it,” Aveline interrupted, and Hawke released the groom. “Thank you for coming, Hawke. It means a lot to me.”

 

“Any drunk and disorderlies yet?”

 

“None so far, though I'm keeping one eye on Ser Jac. I think he showed up hung over.” Aveline glanced around the crowded chantry. “Isabela seems intent on embarrassing me as subtly as possible. She's hit on almost everyone here, but she doesn't stay in one place very long."

 

"You look fantastic, by the way," Hawke put in with a little smile. "Though I seriously never thought I'd see you in a dress."

 

"They're impractical," Aveline said as if the fact was obvious. She smoothed down the front of her simple white dress a bit self-consciously. "But thank you, Hawke."

 

"She's stunning," Donnic corrected, all of his attention firmly fixed on his new wife.

 

Aveline smiled back at him.

 

"I'll take that as my cue to leave before the smooching gets underway," Hawke drawled.

 

"Speaking of smooching..."

 

Hawke barely bit back a startled yelp. Even Donnic jumped. Isabela had appeared out of nowhere just behind the Champion.

 

"Isabela, don't _do_ that!"

 

"Pardon us, many happy returns and all that nonsense," Isabela murmured, flashing a careless smile towards Aveline before steering Hawke firmly into a secluded alcove.

 

"Whoa, uh, wait a minute," Hawke protested, turning quickly to ward the other woman off with waving hands. "I'm not sure if I sent some kind of confusing signals, and I think you're great, but--"

 

"You are so _thick_ sometimes," Isabela huffed, giving her friend a shove. "I didn't drag you back here to molest you, idiot." She grabbed Hawke's wrists and forcibly lowered them. "Stop that. This is about Varric."

 

Hawke went still. The room had suddenly become impossibly warm. "Uh. Varric? What about him?"

 

"Okay. I'm going to spell this out for you even if you aren't nearly as deep in denial and brain damage as he is." Isabela leaned in close, trapping Hawke's hands between them, and looked her right in the eye. "He. Likes. You. A lot. Also, he hasn't been able to take his eyes off you in that dress for more than ten seconds. Did you get all that? Should I speak more slowly?"

 

Hawke's face was roughly the shade of a tomato. "Uh-"

 

"Don't 'uh' me! What are you going to do about it?"

 

"What are you, the team match maker?" Hawke muttered, gaze lowering as she struggled to regain her composure. "Did he say something... to you?"

 

"No, I'm just not _blind_." She released Hawke abruptly and took a step back. "Are you going to answer me or not? I said 'what are you going to do about it'? Because I'm beginning to think he's _never_ going to dig up the gonads to make a move. It's just..." Isabela made a strangling motion. "Watching him makes me want to throw things at his head! He's impossible! You're not much better, sweetie, even if you are a bit more subtle. If you exclude your 'friendly habit' of taking him _everywhere_ , I mean."

 

"You are such a meddler," Hawke complained, but her mouth was starting to twitch into something very like a shy smile.

 

"Yes, well, I do what I'm good at." Isabela made shooing motions. "Now go home."

 

"What?"

 

Isabela made exaggerated pantomimes with her hands. "Gooo hooome." She offered a slow wink. "And have Varric walk you home. You can have a nice long chat and see what happens. Or don't chat. Sometimes words get in the way. You'll figure it out. Go. Now. Why are you still here?"

 

Hawke laughed outright. "You can be such a marvelous bitch sometimes, 'Bela."

 

The pirate bowed mockingly. "Why, thank you."

 

~*~

 

"Well, that's it," Varric muttered to himself, glaring into his fourth cup of wine. "Game over, old man."

 

He'd seen the whole cozy little scene from where he'd been lurking by the buffet table. Hawke had seemed flustered at first by Isabela's flirtatious advances, but she was smiling widely by the end of the conversation. There was no way Varric could compete with someone as straightforward and sexual as Isabela.  


A small germ of resentment ate at his gut. After the woman had sat there and tried to convince him to make a move before it was too late, _this_ was her idea of showing him what a pathetic coward he was? By moving in for the kill herself?

 

Some friend.

 

He downed the rest of his wine in one go, but it tasted like vinegar. It was time to get gone. He wanted to get Bianca and go shoot something. Or perhaps just drink rotgut until he passed out.

 

"Varric."

 

He looked up quickly, caught completely off guard.

 

Hawke smiled at him, though there was a nervous tension to her eyes. "Feel like pretending to be a gentleman long enough to walk a girl home?"

 

Varric glanced past her, but Isabela had disappeared into the crowd. Was Hawke playing hard to get? "Of course," he said. He offered his elbow, and she took his arm with a quick little grin that made him feel clumsy and awkward for a few dangerous moments.

 

As they stopped to gather their weapons from the doorman, Varric thought he caught a brief glimpse of Isabela shamelessly flirting with a red-faced Fenris. What the hell?

 

He debated whether or not to point the indiscretion out to Hawke, but let it pass. She knew what a flirt Isabela was. Perhaps Hawke had never been interested in a conventional relationship. Which meant he never would have had a chance regardless.

 

He held open the door for her and they both nearly stumbled down the chantry steps, caught unawares by the cold air. "I think you're drunk, Ser Dwarf," Hawke laughed as they steadied each other and began their careful descent.

 

"Only a little. You're the one who smells like a winery."

 

"Oh, please. I barely had three glasses." She shivered, tightening the flimsy shawl around her shoulders. "If I'd known the evening was going to get so chilly, I'd have brought a proper coat. This thing is like tissue paper."

 

Varric paused to shrug out of his own overcoat. The silk shirt underneath wasn't much protection from the cold, but it was still better than the back-baring dress Hawke was trapped in. She flushed when he offered it. "I wasn't trying to suggest--"

 

"Yes, I know," he drawled. "This is me being nice. It happens occasionally. Try not to faint."

 

She smiled and took the coat, draping it over her shoulders like a small blanket. "Thank you."

 

They continued on in silence, breathing the cool air that spoke of a winter not far away and enjoying each other's company. There were few other people out at such a late hour, especially with the crime that tended to crop up at night. Hightown was a little better off, if only because of the proximity of the city Guard and the Champion. Still, it was a little miracle in and of itself when they reached Hawke's door without being accosted. Varric had been secretly waiting for such an attack. A dwarf and a lady in a dress must have looked like easy pickings. Either the criminal underground had learned to recognize Hawke by sight, or they were off creating mischief elsewhere.

 

Hawke returned Varric's coat as they stood on her doorstep. "It didn't occur to me to ask if you were even done with the party," she apologized. "Are you heading back?"

 

"No, Bianca and I are headed for the Hanged Man for some more rowdy company." And lots and lots of Help-Me-Forget Rotgut.

 

Hawke didn't go inside, but dithered for several moments on her stoop, visibly conflicted about something. Varric paused in the act of turning away. "Something on your mind, Hawke?" A second later he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. She might want to talk about Isabela. Maybe he could feign food poisoning.

 

The door opened abruptly, and Bodahn stood silhouetted in the light from inside. "I thought that was you, Messere," he greeted cheerily, blind to the awkward tension. "I was just getting ready to turn in for the night when your dog started--" Obviously impatient for attention, the big mabari prancing behind him bulled past the startled manservant and threw himself at Varric in a full body tackle that knocked the dwarf on his ass. Bianca rebounded off the street and cracked him just behind the ear. For a moment he saw stars.

 

"Rex, no! Bad dog!" Hawke scolded.

 

"Oof," Varric complained weakly, fending off a slobbering tongue. "It's okay. I guess it's been awhile since--" He tried to rise and fell back down with a thump, head spinning. "Ouch."

 

"Shit." Hawke crouched quickly by his side, holding his elbow to steady him. "Are you all right? Back _off_ , Rex!"

 

The dog, sensing its mistake, retreated, looking suitably chagrined.

 

Hawke's fingers tested Varric's aching head delicately. "I can already feel a knot forming," she tsked, concerned, and squinted at her fingers in the dim light. "I can't tell if it's bleeding, though. Come inside for a minute, and I'll put something cold on it."

 

She helped him to his feet and led him inside, holding his arm firmly to keep him steady. Staggering slightly, he was forced to lean against her side. It took his addled brain a few moments to realize what the weight just against his temple was, and he spent the agonizing years it took to reach the couch trying to pretend he hadn't noticed. If Hawke knew she was practically shoving her boob into his face, she certainly didn't show it.

 

She sat him down and had Bodahn fetch a cold wet rag. "Stop moving," she snapped when Varric flinched away from the touch of the cloth to his head. "You big baby."

 

"I've had arrows to the leg that were less painful," Varric protested, but obediently held still, clenching his teeth.

 

Hawke noticed Bodahn fretting silently in the corner. "I can handle it from here," she said. "You can go. I can always fetch Anders if it looks serious."

 

"Then good evening to you, Messeres," Bodahn mumbled, excusing himself.

 

"You just wanted me helpless and all to yourself," Varric teased.

 

Hawke chuckled, dipping the cloth in a bowl of water and gingerly placing it against the knot again. "Don't worry, you're safe with me. Rex and Bianca are chaperoning."

 

Varric arched a brow at Rex where the dog sat panting by the fire and eyeing the dwarf with friendly curiosity. "See if I invite you to the Hanged Man anytime soon." Rex tilted his head and whined softly.

 

"Would you stop teaching my dog to gamble? You're so terrible."

 

"You have no idea." Varric glanced at her sideways. She'd eased herself onto the couch beside him to better reach the bump on his head, and this put her in alarmingly close proximity. He could feel her body heat and smell the faintest hint of a subtle perfume. Her body was a mix of strength and soft curves wrapped in a silk dress that, as his brain was only too eager to remind him, dipped down rather far in the back and displayed a bare back his fingers were suddenly itching to touch.

 

He swallowed hard and redirected his gaze to the portrait of Leandra hung over the fireplace, hoping her serene gaze would help him remain a gentleman. His head was already feeling much better; just a bump, after all. He really should go.

 

Any minute now.

 

Hawke put the cloth aside and tested the bump again with a light touch. "Does that hurt?" she asked quietly, still far too close for comfort.

 

Varric could physically _feel_ his self control crumbling around the edges. "No."

 

Hawke's fingers moved on from the bump as if searching for any further injuries, pausing to toy for just a moment with a lock of his hair before the hand fell onto his shoulder.

 

Varric stared straight ahead, unaware his fists were clenched on his knees.

 

Gentleman.

 

Gentlemannnnn.

 

"Varric."

 

"...Yeah."

 

"Are you ever going to kiss me, or am I going to have to pin you down and do it myself?"

 

Varric turned his head quickly, wildly certain he'd taken a harder hit to the head than he'd thought, and now his ears were playing tricks on him.

 

But Hawke's hands came up and cupped his face, and then a soft warm mouth was on his.

 

Oh.

 

Okay.

 

He wasn't sure how it happened, exactly, but in roughly two seconds he had one arm around her, dragging her up against him, his hand splaying across a deliciously bare back. His other hand had somehow gotten tangled in her hair and he spent the next few minutes quite thoroughly trying to kiss the air out of her lungs while Rex looked on with frank interest.

 

Hawke made an inarticulate noise and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Why didn't you say anything?" she gasped accusingly when they finally broke apart. The way her chest was heaving for air against his made it difficult for Varric to think up a coherent answer.

 

Because of Sebastian. Because why would you look twice at me? "Because apparently I have a cowardly streak," he finally said dryly, savoring the way she shivered when he ran his fingers up and down her spine. "And according to Isabela, I can be a little thick. You could've just thrown yourself at me and saved us both a lot of trouble."

 

She laughed breathlessly, pressing her cheek to his briefly, fingers clutching almost desperately at his arms. "Oh, Isabela. She must have been going crazy watching the two of us." She started to run her hands through his hair, and pulled back hastily when she sensed him wince. “Sorry. Does your head still hurt?”

 

“Only a little.”

 

“Hmm.” She studied him almost thoughtfully for a moment, then pressed her hand against his chest and lay a soft kiss against his temple. “How about now?”

 

“Less,” he murmured, a smile pulling at his mouth.

 

She placed another kiss on his forehead. “And now?”

 

“I think it's fading.”

 

She kissed him on the mouth again, slowly. “Now?”

 

“I'm cured.” He grinned, cupping her face in one calloused hand. “Maybe we should bottle Hawke Kisses and have Blondie sell them for a few sovereigns.”

 

“Nope. This is a limited offer.” She turned her head to kiss his palm briefly. “Hawke Kisses are Varric Tethras exclusive.”

 

“See, damn it, stuff like this is why you keep turning me into a babbling idiot,” Varric protested a little weakly, tugging her in for another kiss.

 

She laughed against his mouth.

 

~*~

 

Isabela, predictably, took full credit.

 

"I knew it all along," she boasted the following afternoon, indicating the pair and their joined hands as everyone who was so inclined settled in for the day's game of Wicked Grace. "I expect free drinks all day."

 

Varric gave her a tolerantly amused look, using his free hand to slide Bianca from his shoulder to rest against the wall. "For what, pray tell?"

 

"Excuse you, who's the one who did all the work?" The pirate splayed her fingers across her breasts. "Me, that's who!"

 

"Right. Forgive me, O Queen of Matchmaking. I'll buy you _one_ ," Hawke relented. "You want more, you win it with cards."

 

Isabela sulked. "Cheap-ass." She jabbed Fenris teasingly in the ribs as he began to carefully shuffle the deck; a skill he'd only recently learned. "Now that _they've_ finally decided to become attached at the hips, do you think now's a good time to air out some other peoples' dirty laundry?" She gave him a very non-subtle stare.

 

He coughed, looking intently at the cards, shoulders hunched. Hawke noticed with interest the flush creeping up his neck. "Varric," the elf said quickly, "do I deal to the left or the right?"

 

Isabela rolled her eyes, but let it drop. She caught Hawke's eye across the table and leered openly. "So. Details. I've never had a dwarf in the sack--"

 

"And that is the end of this particular conversation," Varric declared loudly, overriding her.

 

"What conversation?" Merrill came hurrying over, still flicking crumbs from her lunch off her clothes. "Ohh, did I miss something juicy?"

 

"Juicy?" Hawke repeated, stifling a laugh.

 

"Isabela says all good gossip is 'juicy'." The mage seated herself beside the pirate. "I don't understand what that means," she admitted as an aside. "It sounds a little... unclean."

 

Varric snorted into his tankard. "It usually is, where Isabela's concerned."

 

Isabela flicked a crust of bread at him. "You'll pay for that."

 

~*~

 

Cassandra Pentaghast stood in silence for several tense moments after the story of Kirkwall's fate was finished. Arms crossed loosely across her stomach, she gazed down at her captive with an expressionless face, mulling over all that she'd been told. "This is not what I expected," she finally said. "The Champion is not the person I thought she was. Some of what you say does... shed some light on certain things, however. Like there being a member of the Hawke family in the Wardens. And why we have been unable to find that damned big-mouthed dwarf, Varric Tethras."

 

The storyteller's mouth curled upwards in a teasing smile. "Sorry, love. I'm not so good with words as he is. If you ever do manage to find Hawke, that's where you'll find Varric, though. He's the only one who stayed by her side when the rest of us went our separate ways. Maybe you can see if he tells a different version of the story when you find him, though I get the feeling it'll be too late by then."

 

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "If you've lied to me..."

 

"I wasn't lying. Balls, I'm probably taking less liberties than Varric would. The little bastard was never able to keep too much truth in a story if he could help it."

 

Cassandra eyed the pirate with distrust, fingers rubbing together by her side in an old forgotten habit. "...Very well," she said at last, grudging. "I suppose I don't have much choice. And some of what you've said matches up with other inquiries we've made with the Templars and what Guardsmen that are left.

 

"Lovely." Isabela rose to her feet in one quick move. "I can go, then? Not that this hasn't been fun."

 

The Seeker ignored the sarcasm, waving a hand in dismissal. As Isabela passed by, Cassandra found her eyes wandering the empty walls of what had once been the Hawke estate. The tale of the Champion weighed heavily on her mind, twisting it with the implications of the past and a possible darkness in the future. This mess was the Champion's fault, and yet by all accounts it seemed as if destiny had been thrust upon her. She'd not gone out of her way to actively destroy the Chantry, as had been initially suspected. She'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had been forced to make difficult choices to save herself, her friends, and the city she'd made her home.

 

And yet despite the political and religious reasons behind the inquisition, Cassandra found her mind lingering on the brief mentions of the Champion's clumsy love life. She had always been a bit of a romantic at heart herself, though she kept that side of herself a closely guarded secret.

 

"Captain."

 

She heard the pirate pause just at the door, but continued to stare at the wall, refusing to turn and meet that steady dark gaze. "Do you really think they're still together? Tethras's life is going to be that much harder if he's foolish enough to stick with a woman being hunted by the Chantry."

 

Isabela's chuckle was low and warm. "If you'd seen the way they used to look at each other, you wouldn't be asking me that. Trust me, Seeker, if you go after Hawke, you'll have to get past that little liar, and good luck with that. Assuming Bianca doesn't get to you first."

 

Cassandra turned with a frown just in time to see the pirate disappear through the door. She stood for several moments, musing over the woman's parting words. She wiped the smile hastily from her face when she felt it threatening to emerge. "Sap," she accused herself quietly, embarrassed, and strode out into the night to report her findings to Sister Nightingale.

 

 

 

_~End~_


End file.
